Chapter 2 Absolutely Random Partners - Outrun the Quarterback

Riley's POV

The video had already done two laps around campus before I made it through the front doors.

"Pick a frame where I'm still standing!"

I turned, ready to ruin somebody's morning.

Three sophomores stopped behind me. One held up both hands.

"No, that was awesome. You made them rewind it."

"Oh." I adjusted my backpack. "Then carry on. Accurately."

They laughed and headed inside. Apparently I had fans now. None of them had offered to do my homework.

Priya caught up at my locker with her phone out.

"Twelve thousand views."

"Please tell me you're talking about a cat."

She showed me the clip. Forty seconds: the fall, my face, the principal discovering that his inspirational anecdote could talk back.

The comments were divided between she's iconic and she needs to calm down. A third faction wanted me running the school's social accounts.

I scrolled past them.

At the end, the camera swung toward the side doors. Cole stood near one of them. While everybody else watched the screen, he watched the bleachers.

Me.

I dragged the progress bar back.

Priya leaned against the next locker. "Miss something?"

"The editing's terrible."

"Sure."

I returned her phone.

"He knew your nickname."

"We went to camp together."

"And apparently spent seven years studying for a reunion."

"Maybe he needs a hobby."

"He has one. They announce it over the loudspeaker."

I opened my locker hard enough to interrupt her.

A student aide appeared with a folded slip. "Riley Sharpe? You're supposed to go to the athletic office before third period."

I took it. "Am I being summoned or recruited?"

He shrugged and checked the next name on his list.

Priya read over my shoulder. "Planning committee. Congratulations."

The slip said Wildcat Traditions Week. Under student representative, somebody had typed my name.

"I'm not even on a team."

"Maybe they liked your speech."

"Maybe they'd like to ask."

I tucked the slip into my book. Priya was still watching me when I shut the locker.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Which, from Priya, meant she was willing to wait until lunch.

The athletic conference room had a football schedule across half the wall. Track records occupied a small frame beside the thermostat.

Excellent. We were all equally important, provided nobody needed to read our names.

Sloane Bennett was setting out folders. She glanced up when I entered, then checked the clock.

"You're early."

"I wanted time to prepare my apology demands."

"Take a seat."

Cole sat beside Theo Grant, reading. Theo looked from him to me and developed an expression I immediately disliked.

I reached for a chair at the far end.

"Photography rep," Sloane said, indicating the bag beneath it. "There's one beside Cole."

"Of course there is."

"It's a chair, Riley."

I sat. Cole moved his folder just far enough to clear my elbow.

"Morning."

Theo bent over his notes.

Coach Dawson arrived carrying coffee and three rolled posters. Sloane took the posters before they knocked over a water bottle.

"Thanks." He faced the table. "Traditions Week. Alumni, community events, something for the kids besides asking our quarterback to autograph their foreheads."

Theo glanced at Cole. "You should charge extra for those."

"Grant."

"Fundraising idea, Coach."

Dawson shook his head, smiling, then began discussing the weekend schedule.

I waited until he paused.

"Why am I here?"

"You know track. You can handle a crowd. And we could use somebody willing to tell us when we've made everything about football."

"So Friday was my audition?"

His smile disappeared.

"No. That video shouldn't have been sprung on you. We'll deal with that whether you help us or not."

I had a second objection ready. It didn't quite fit anymore.

"Okay," I said.

"You can say no to this."

Sloane slid a folder closer. "Or help make the track event something people actually attend."

I opened it.

Football had Saturday's main field slot. Track had Sunday afternoon, opposite the alumni lunch.

Again.

"People can't watch hurdles from the cafeteria."

"That's why it's a draft," Sloane said.

"It was Sunday last year, too."

"And now you're here to suggest something else."

Beside me, Cole turned a page.

"She's staying."

I looked at him. "I haven't decided."

"You've uncapped your pen."

I looked down.

Traitor.

"I could be drawing a mustache on your name."

"Leave room for suggestions."

Theo laughed outright. Cole's mouth barely moved, but I caught it.

I crossed out the Sunday slot harder than necessary.

Sloane waited until everyone had the assignments page open.

Theo had the youth training session. Two juniors got the alumni exhibition. Then she reached the main event.

"All-Sports Challenge. Cole and Riley."

My pen stopped.

Cole turned another page.

"Random partners?" I asked.

"Complementary experience."

"So, no."

"No."

"I'm not currently competing."

"You don't need to compete to help run it."

I looked at Cole. "Did you know?"

"I read the folder before you got here."

Of course he had.

"We need someone from football and someone who'll remember other sports exist," Sloane said. "If you want a different assignment, say so."

Coach Dawson nodded. "You'd both have a say. You're not working for him."

Cole leaned back, giving me room to address the table.

"If you want to switch, switch."

No teasing. No attempt to persuade me.

It should have made the decision easier.

Instead, I glanced at the Sunday slot I'd crossed out. Leaving meant somebody else would erase that mark, explain there wasn't enough time, and put everything back.

Staying meant mornings with Cole Mercer.

I kept my pen out.

"I'll do it."

Sloane reached for hers.

"With equal say," I added. "He doesn't win arguments by bringing more people who own his jersey."

"Agreed," she said. "Cole?"

He looked at me, not her.

"Works for me."

I wrote my name beneath his.

Our names had looked better on separate pages.

Across the table, Theo started to say something. Sloane slid the youth-program roster in front of him.

"Twenty children. You're responsible for returning all twenty."

He looked down. "Alive?"

"Preferably with the same parents."

For once, I appreciated an interruption.

I caught Cole outside the conference room.

"This isn't a reunion project."

He slowed. "Good. I didn't order shirts."

"I mean it."

"I know."

I moved in front of him. He stopped, close enough that I had to tip my chin up.

Annoying. I preferred arguments that didn't require neck adjustments.

"You were very comfortable letting me decide."

"You wanted me to decide for you?"

"No."

"Then we agree."

A pair of students passed us. One greeted him; he nodded without turning away.

"You thought I'd stay because I wouldn't want you thinking I was scared," I said.

"I thought you might."

"You're not that intimidating."

"Then the early meeting shouldn't be a problem."

There it was. The little push, delivered without raising his voice.

I shifted my folder against my chest.

"You could've switched, too."

"I know."

"But you didn't."

His thumb stopped against the edge of his folder.

I smiled. Finally.

"Careful, Mercer. Somebody might think you wanted me."

"As a partner."

"That's what I said."

"No, it wasn't."

For a second, neither of us moved.

I could hear shoes squeaking somewhere down the hall. Cole's eyes dropped to my mouth, briefly enough that I could've imagined it.

I decided not to investigate.

"Rules," I said. "You don't volunteer me without asking. Your teammates don't get to vote on our disagreements. And my fall is not part of the promotional package."

"Fine."

"That was fast."

"They're reasonable." He shifted his folder. "Mine. You don't change the plan without telling me. You don't sign me up for anything. And if you want something, you ask."

"I do ask."

"You announce. Sometimes there's a question mark."

I had done that. At ten. Probably yesterday.

"If you've prepared a complaint, there's a suggestion box."

"I keep my own records."

I waited for the joke.

He didn't provide one.

Sloane emerged carrying the final schedules. She handed us each a sheet.

"Seven tomorrow. Stadium entrance. We'll walk the space before classes."

"Seven," I repeated.

"The morning one." She headed down the hall before I could appeal.

Cole slid the schedule into his folder.

"You used to like getting there before everyone else."

"People change."

"You still hate waiting your turn."

"You still need the last word."

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

I pointed at him. "See? Growth."

That got a smile. Small, quick, and inconveniently good.

I looked down before he could notice me noticing.

The withdrawal form sat behind the schedule, a neat blank line waiting for a signature.

Cole's gaze followed mine.

I folded it underneath the other pages.

"Seven," I said.

He nodded once and stepped around me.

For the second time in four days, I watched him leave first.

Then I took out my pen and circled the meeting time.

Cole Mercer wasn't the only one who could keep score.